


i’ll find a new home with you

by milkdaze (flowerstems)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 09:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6233845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerstems/pseuds/milkdaze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nyssa. Run away with me.</p>
<p>She smiles when she says it, holding Nyssa’s hand just as tightly, fingers still on Nyssa’s cheek, and Nyssa stares at her for such a long time, quietly, Sara imagines she hears her saying no over and over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i’ll find a new home with you

Nyssa, I can't do this anymore.

Nyssa stops sharpening her sword and looks up, eyes just a little wider, shinier, and Sara hears both what she does and doesn't say.

You cannot leave.

Yes, Nyssa, I can. _We_ can.

Sara moves over with borrowed grace, her own wavering as she kneels beside Nyssa and puts her hands on Nyssa’s blade. The sharpness slices across the pads of her fingers and Nyssa drops the sword, drops everything, to cradle Sara’s hands as though those hands have only ever loved her, as though they have never cut slashed broken torn lives apart and away from the world. She kisses each of Sara’s bleeding fingers slowly, each being treasured individually, and Sara’s blood smears on her mouth, her hands. Nyssa doesn’t mind.

My father would never allow it.

Forget your father.

We will never be released.

Sara doesn’t blink and Nyssa feels her heart breaking but she’s not sure why.

We will be running from the League until we die, both of us.

Let them chase us.

Sara pulls her hand out of Nyssa’s grip so she can caress her cheek with the backs of her fingers. Nyssa holds her other hand tightly.

Nyssa. Run away with me.

She smiles when she says it, holding Nyssa’s hand just as tightly, fingers still on Nyssa’s cheek, and Nyssa stares at her for such a long time, quietly, Sara imagines she hears her saying no over and over again.

Until Nyssa picks up her sword, stands up and Sara moves with her. She picks up her staff as Nyssa swings her sword clean of Sara’s blood.

We need to be quick. Are you certain you want this?

Nyssa only asks because she needs to hear it again, needs to reinforce the knowledge that yes this is what her beloved wants. Sara nods.

Sara puts on her mask, pulls Nyssa in for a long kiss before she puts on her shemagh —Nyssa thinks it’s insurance but Sara wants it to be a promise—and they betray the League in silence together, running through the catacombs and cutting down their fellow soldiers as they escape Nanda Parbat.

They run, but they don't think of it as running.

 

* * *

 

The first year is the roughest. Assassins come after them in droves, like white blood cells rushing to an infection, and they cut them down. They keep moving, stopping only for a few days, a week at most. They assume every safe house is compromised, they don’t plan to go near Starling even though Nyssa knows Sara is dying to.

Not yet, Sara, but I promise you. Soon.

Sara doesn’t cry, but Nyssa gets the feeling she keeps unconsciously telling herself not to. (It’s just a feeling.)

They crawl through Asia, sinking into the shadows, fighting, surviving; firmly believing that each time isn't their last. They carve out an odd, winding path, unfamiliar to the League, and they take it to Europe because neither of them have ever really appreciated the beauty built upon the backs of the robbed, the plundered, and the downtrodden. It is, regrettably, beautiful, and when they ignore the bloody history and the assassins out to get them it is enjoyable simply because they're together.

Slowly, they shake off the shroud of the shadows, slipping back into the world. It doesn't notice them, not really. The assassins keep coming but they're dwindling, League resources stretched thin enough as is, and Nyssa loves how well the sunlight takes to Sara as though it's her birthright. Nyssa believes it is.

Shopping with Nyssa is a challenge, not unlike any worthy challenge, and that amuses Sara to no end. Nyssa likes her clothes comfortable, with as much mobility as possible, and she has an affinity for leather that Sara has now confirmed in real time. Bit by bit, they change out their wardrobe. Sara keeps the jacket Nyssa gave her, buys Nyssa a jacket similar to it, and Nyssa’s eyes shine. It's one of the many expressions Sara tries to sear into her mind, the happy curve of Nyssa’s mouth, the way her face lights up, the lift of her shoulders as she shows off the jacket and asks Sara if she likes how it looks. Of course, Sara says yes.

 

* * *

 

Their second year on the run greets them in Athens. They spend two weeks walking around in the open, going on tours, wondering at the views and the architecture because it's so much cooler in real life. Nyssa agrees.

There is one attack when they are trailing at the back of the citadel tour because Sara wanted to go left when the group was going right—the assassin grabs Sara and in a moment she flips them over, spins them around and snaps their neck. Nyssa prays then they dispose of the body. They leave Athens the next day.

It’s a quiet move, no one attacks them, no one seems to notice them at all, so they stop in Italy, finally, Sara jokes and Nyssa smiles. They make their way to Venice, Sara silently bubbling with excitement the entire time, and when they arrive Nyssa pretends to be surprised when Sara gets down on one knee and asks her to ride through the Grand Canal with her.

Both Nyssa and the gondolier struggle with their amusement, the extent their smiles tug at their faces until they hurt, because Sara is both incredibly endearing and amusing as she works to ensure Nyssa is enjoying herself, trying to make the ride as romantic as romantic can be while moving from one side of the gondola to the other, staring in awe at the sights. They are beautiful, Nyssa won't lie about that, but it's hard to remember to gape at the buildings and the sky and the way the lights bounce along the horizon from one to the other when she's busy gaping at the way the lights catch on Sara’s hair and her freckles that the sun now races Nyssa to kiss every day, eyes wide and reflecting all of Venice, maybe all of Italy, maybe the entire world, who knows.

With the end of the ride comes the end of Nyssa’s restraint to one kiss a minute, she imposed that limit on herself so Sara could spend some time admiring the view, and she catches Sara’s hand in her own as they stand, pulling her close and mirroring Sara’s smile when their foreheads press together. Nyssa thinks it impossible to get tired of kissing Sara.

 

* * *

 

Their fourth year sees them settling in Liechtenstein, it's been eight months since the last attack and Sara dares to hope they're unofficially free. Nyssa entertains the idea, for Sara’s sake, but they never let down their guard; though if they could they would say they've been the most relaxed they can remember being. It's nice.

Sara likes passing through Balzers, mostly because she likes to walk Nyssa through and around the castle.

We're, like, super stealthy… ex-assassins? We can walk through the castle if we want to.

She likes to take Nyssa’s hand in her own, swing their hands together, and the further the get in the castle the more Sara swings their hands until she’s twirling in front Nyssa, grabbing both her hands and dancing them through the grand corridors because neither of them are great dancers and that’s why they both are. Sara has a made up waltz, based on what she saw in cartoons as a child, it goes like this: one-two-step, one-two-spin, one-two-step one-two and twirl—c’mon, Nyssa, twirl!

Most nights Sara dances them through the castle and they leave before dawn.

Other nights Nyssa likes to go with Sara to Triesenberg to watch the moon rise and paint the fields and the Alps in a beautiful night shade then watch the sun rise and colour them all with dawn, the light of dawn spilling through and over the mountain range like honey. Either way, Sara always looks beautiful. Sara always laughs and says it's the romantic in her and Nyssa doesn't argue about it because it's probably true.

One night Sara lies on the grass beside Nyssa and tries to point out the constellations over the Alps, only to start making up her own constellations.

How do people remember those things, anyway?

It is similar to remembering the songs you claim were the top hits in the 70s. And the 80s. And the 90s.

Nyssa, I see your point.

Then she rolls onto Nyssa, brackets her hips with her warm legs and squeezes Nyssa’s cheeks together. Nyssa laughs and lets Sara catch the sound with her mouth because Sara looks divine outlined in the moonlight, a fact she's known since they met.

Some nights they just sleep at home, kissing each other awake at dawn and rolling out of their shared bed. They’ll scour the premises, check for anyone or anything—nothing, again, that's the two hundredth and seventy-eighth time of _nothing_ —and Sara starts getting her hopes up. Nyssa smiles quietly because she does, too.

After breakfast, they go out and Sara somehow coaxes their neighbours to tell embarrassing jokes while Nyssa teaches the children how to sneak extra snacks to their rooms between meals. They wander out past the neighbourhoods and into the fields, the grass tickling their ankles until Sara starts picking at it and twisting them with small flowers into a bracelet and tying it onto Nyssa’s wrist.

They walk far into the fields so walking back home will take long and Nyssa turns them around on a dare, spinning them until Sara gets dizzy (she wasn’t as skilled as Nyssa with the spinning descent, that’s the only reason Nyssa out-spins her) and leans on Nyssa instead of falling into the grass. Nyssa just laughs and sways with her, they don't have much else to do anyway.

Perhaps we should get jobs?

Sara’s wearing her sundress today, a light, beautiful blue thing that only looks beautiful because it's on her and Sara crinkles her nose at Nyssa’s suggestion.

But why?

Why not?

Sara shrugs and Nyssa purses her lips, smiles in amusement. _Oh, Sara._

I worry you will soon spend all your free time sleeping or lying down.

I do not just spend my free time lying down, but if I did it’s because I _can._ So can you, Nys.

Sara beams and walks off, grass tickling her legs again as she lifts the skirt of her dress and dances around Nyssa in circles. She dances in close only to dance away until Nyssa catches her midstep and tugs her in as though it's part of Sara’s made-up choreography. Nyssa likes the way the sun takes Sara, likes being able to count her countless freckles and smile against her mouth.

It's the happiest they've felt in so long.

 

* * *

 

Their fifth year sees them in the Lance household. Sara introduces Nyssa to her parents, her sister, and they eat dinner while talking about mundane things like sports and the weather. Sara likes this life, loves that Nyssa is in it with her and later that night when she asks Nyssa what it felt like, to leave her home with Sara, Nyssa rolls over and says:

I had never known a home until you let me know you.

Sara wishes Nyssa had watched as many cartoons in her youth as Sara had because she wants to tease her about the (potential) cheesiness of what she just said endlessly. But Nyssa looks so earnest, so openly relaxed in a way she has never been, Sara kisses her instead.

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [#kissyourgirl commentathon](http://femslashbb.livejournal.com/12935.html).  
> this. this wrote itself I swear. I'm sorry for any ooc-ness; sadly, we have never seen Nyssa and Sara abandon the League together (like they should have) and traipse about the world as though they'll never outgrow their honeymoon phase (which also should have happened).


End file.
